


the softer moments

by sarah_x



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10115189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_x/pseuds/sarah_x
Summary: Edward wasn’t delusional enough to believe that Jonathan had ever loved him and he wasn’t sure he had ever truly loved Jonathan either, but sometimes he missed the peaceful moments. The softer moments, like when Jonathan had thanked him. They had both dealt out so much violence in life and fallen prey to it too often by those who were supposed to care for them. He wasn’t going to pretend that Jonathan wasn’t fucked up. He was. Edward was fucked up too. They could both be just as cruel and manipulative to the other when they wanted to be, but it was nice to have someone who cared about you, after so many years of hurt. And Edward did care about Jonathan, no matter how often he regretted or how often Jonathan abused it. He liked to believe Jonathan had cared about him too, even if he didn’t love him. Even if he was incapable of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend listening to My Lover by Birdtalker for the full experience. It's the perfect scriddler song that I listened to pretty much on repeat while I wrote this. Shout-out to my friend @batmanrogues on tumblr for her unwavering support in my writing.

Edward was as restless as the storm outside. He had attempted sleep many times, tossing and turning as the wind hollowed and the rain poured, until he had finally given in, thrown on a robe and padded downstairs. It must have been around two or three in the morning, so he decided on hot cocoa over coffee so there might be at least a slim chance of getting some sleep.

His current place of residence was a townhouse in the East End, borrowed from a feline-themed friend of his. It wasn’t his style and the neighborhood was less than savory, but he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers. The living room was comfortable enough, though, and Edward settled onto the couch with the cocoa and picked up the crossword book from the table beside him.

_12 down. A sea-dwelling creature._

Edward smiled. That one was easy. He scribbled down:  _siphonophore._

Edward had barely finished writing when three swift knocks came at the door. It wasn’t all that strange at that time of night in the neighborhood Edward lived in but if it was the usual crackheads, he would have be able to hear them whining from behind the door or banging on his windows asking for money by now.

It could have been the police but that seemed doubtful. He hadn’t committed a crime in over a month. In fact, he had been trying to, unfortunately, stay out of trouble for the past few weeks.

He put the puzzle book and cocoa to one side and tiptoed over to the bookshelf. He pulled a pistol out of one of the hollowed-out books and continued to the door, keeping the gun close to him.

He opened the door slowly, but kept it mostly closed, so the people could only see him stood there in his pajamas and a robe rather than into the house. “Oh, for pity’s sack,” Edward rolled his eyes, almost slamming the door shut on the figures. “What do  _you_ want? And why is  _he_ with you?”

As it was, Batman and Jonathan stood on his front porch. Batman’s costume was silky as seal skin from the rain. Jonathan, on the other hand, was like a drowned rat. The usual mask and noose that he wore around his neck, for some inexplicable reason, were gone, showing Jonathan’s beaten and bloody face. His burlap costume stuck to his skin.

“He won’t go to the hospital,” Batman told him, frustration heavy in the man’s voice. “You were the only person he would even consider staying with.”

“Perhaps if you had let me make my way home,” Jonathan bit back, speaking for the first time since Edward had opened the door. His words tumbled out of his mouth slightly slurred and he had to spit blood onto Edward’s porch before he could continue. “We would not be in this predicament.”

Batman shoved him lightly over the threshold, into Edward and the pair of them glared back at him with disdain. “You’re in no state to be alone, Crane.”

For once, Edward agreed with him. He could feel how cold Jonathan was under his clothes. Jonathan was holding onto him, one hand on his shoulder, the other resting on his hip. He seemed to be putting most of his weight on Edward. It wasn’t a lot considering Jonathan was mostly skin and bone stretched over a tall and narrow frame. It was still alarming that Jonathan didn’t seem to be able to stand without support, though.

He still didn’t see why this was his problem.

His tone was sarcastic when he asked, “So you’re palming him off onto to me? Delightful. Perhaps I should make a sign: Welcome invalids, freeloaders and degenerates, one and all.”

Batman rolled his eyes beneath the cowl and Jonathan pushed off him with a scowl on his face, moving past Edward further into the house. “Make yourself at home!” Edward called after him mockingly. He turned back to Batman, “Got anyone else in that car of yours?” He gestured to the Batmobile parked on the street outside. “Does Harley need recuperation from the Joker? A time out for Two-Face? Or maybe you’ve been busy beating the living hell out of a few of my other associates, hmm?"

“I didn’t attack Crane,” Batman countered.  _Surprising,_ Edward thought. “I responded to a disturbance in Chinatown and found him beaten to a pulp. He’s not wanted so I can’t take him in for treatment. The only option open to me was to bring him here.”

Edward nodded. “I see.” He said curtly. “Well you can go now.”

Edward was sure Batman’s lips pulled into a smile, however briefly it stayed on his face. “You haven’t changed, Nygma.”

“Nor have you.”

Edward watched the Bat walk back to his car, climb inside and drive off before he turned his attention back to Jonathan. He slipped the pistol into the pocket of his robe and glided back through the house, following the sounds of rummaging until he reached the kitchen where Jonathan was rooting through his draws.

Edward sighed, pinching his nose. “What are you doing?”

Jonathan didn’t look at him. “First aid kit,” He said. “You always keep it in the kitchen.”

Edward shooed Jonathan out of the way so he could find it for him. Jonathan was bracing himself on the counter and Edward eyed him with mild annoyance. “Do yourself a favor and go and sit down.”

Jonathan looked like he wanted to argue but thankfully for Edward’s patience, he only glowered as he slunk off towards the kitchen table.

“I’ll treat my wounds and then leave,” Jonathan said. “You can go back to your foolish little puzzles or whatever you were doing.”

Edward grabbed the first aid kit, along with a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and a needle. “Don’t be an idiot, Jonathan, you heard what the Bat said. You’re in no state to be on your own. Especially in this storm.”

“Didn’t think you would care, considering our last encounter.” Jonathan didn’t sound all that sorry, though Edward hadn’t expected him to be.

The last time they had seen each other, the roles had been reversed. Except Jonathan had been none too gentle with Edward’s injuries. In fact, he had reset his broken leg without any anaesthetic and ignored Edward’s screaming protests. It had been beneficial in the long run but it had also been excruciating. So, Edward had righteously socked him in the face. He’d split Jonathan’s lip open – the first and only scar he’d given Jonathan – but the other man had only laughed in response.

Edward had half the mind to push his hands down on the cuts and bruises, to dig his nails into Jon’s flesh until he shrieked the way Edward had. At the very least, he wanted to gloat. He couldn’t bring himself to do so, strangely enough. Jonathan was quieter than usual and had a wounded demeanor about him. Edward wasn’t sure he could be  _that_ cruel. Not as cruel as Jonathan had been.

Edward threaded the needle. He saw Jonathan watching him with an incredulous look on his face. “What?” Edward snapped.

“You’re not stitching me up,” Jonathan told him, rising out of his seat. He managed to stand for about two seconds before he fell back into the chair. “Your untrained hand makes a mess of even the smallest cut.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Edward scoffed. “You hardly treat most of your injuries. I’m surprised you haven’t contracted septicemia by now. You can barely stand, Jonathan, let alone hold a needle and keep it steady. Now, where’s the worst of it?”

Jonathan didn’t speak. He was studying Edward with pale grey eyes, purple and yellow bruises blossoming on the skin around them. Whoever had done this to Jonathan had really done a number on him. At last, he said, “My back.”

Edward was admittedly a little unnerved by Jonathan’s unwavering stare – the man was annoyingly good at getting under his skin – so instead he turned his attention to the needle. “Take your shirt off.”

Jonathan smiled for the first time that night, a rare suggestive grin that Edward had only seen a handful of times. It was something that belonged on Edward’s face, not Jonathan’s. “Don’t be vulgar,” Edward scolded. “If I wanted to jump your bones – which happens to be quite literal with you – then why would I chose to do so when you are filthy and bleeding all over my kitchen?”

Jonathan was still smiling at him. It was slightly sinister on his aged face. “That never stopped you in the past.”

Edward tried not to appear as flustered as he felt. “Yes, well, those were the transgressions of a much younger man who misjudged the depths of those he chose to, ahem,  _affiliate_ with.”

The other man said nothing more and Edward was grateful for that. Jonathan attempted to take his shirt off and appeared resentful when Edward had to aid him with the last few tugs.

Jonathan need not have worried about Edward making a mess of his back, it was already a nasty sight. A small frown found its way to Edward’s face. All the urges from earlier to make Jonathan suffer fell away. He placed a gentle hand on the man’s pale skin, skin that was in sharp contrast with his own smooth brown, feeling the cold and bloodied skin and the bone underneath, far too prominent to be healthy. Then again, what else was new with Jonathan? Edward could find Jonathan's older scars with his eyes closed. A bullet wound from a heist gone wrong, claw marks courtesy of Selina and the big one from his grandmother right across his back from his right shoulder to his left hip, among a myriad of others.

Jonathan sounded far away when he spoke, “Are you going to stitch me up or are you just going to stare at my injuries all night?”

Edward frowned at him. “Yes, yes, dearest Jonathan. Pushy much?”

Jonathan didn’t reply as Edward picked up the bottle of whiskey. He took a quick swig of it then poured the rest onto Jonathan’s wounds. The other man hissed as the alcohol hit his skin and Jonathan braced on the sides of the chair, nails digging into the wood. He glanced back at Edward briefly, as if checking to see if Edward had spotted his reaction. Edward had and, under normal circumstances, he would have made note to remember the reaction, to carefully catalogue it away for when the information might have become useful, when he could use it to leverage Jonathan. That was the furthest thing from his mind now. He was oddly devoid of any hateful or wrongful sentiment towards the man.

Edward set to work once the alcohol had cleaned the wounds and washed away most of the blood. Jonathan pushed the needle into the edge of one of the cuts and stitched until it made a solid suture. The whole time, Jonathan said nothing, didn’t even flinch. Edward decided the kitchen was too quiet and wondered into the silence of it, “Who did this to you?”

Jonathan hesitated in his answer. Perhaps the truth was embarrassing, like the time Jonathan had thrown a hotdog at Batman to get away and Edward had laughed for at least a minute after Harvey had told him. It was still funny to this day. “I was on my way home,” Jonathan said. “A group of fools attempted to mug me so I gassed them. Turns out I misjudged the fight aspect of the fight or flight response.”

Edward rolled his eyes as he placed a bandage over a particularly large wound he had just stitched, “ _Neanderthals_.”

“I got in a few decent hits but they managed to knock me down. They must have been kicking me for around five minutes before Batman arrived and intervened. Their screams when he broke  _their_  bones… well, small blessings, I suppose.” Jonathan smiled because of course he did.

Edward managed to stitch up most of the major injuries and gave Jonathan painkillers and an ice pack for his face. He fetched Jonathan some new clothes and grabbed a blanket from upstairs for the couch. Edward was applying some aloe vera to a particularly nasty bruise on Jonathan’s shoulder when he was stopped by Jonathan’s hand over his.

“Edward, I – thank you.”

Edward was shocked by the sincerity of it and pulled his hand away quickly. Jonathan turned slightly to look at him and Edward tried to appear less stunned than he was. He couldn’t remember the last time Jonathan had thanked him, if ever. “Well... Batman just left you here, what else was I supposed to do? Leave you out in the street?”

“You probably should have.” Jonathan’s voice was low.

Edward wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to that, so he changed the subject. “You can stay here tonight, Selina doesn’t need this place back for another couple of weeks. Sleep on the couch.”

“I have a safe house close by, I’ll go there in the morning.”

Edward nodded.  _You can stay longer if you want,_ he wanted to say but letting Jonathan stay with him had never ended well for Edward. Still, his mind persisted,  _you can stay until you recover. Stay._

Edward wasn’t delusional enough to believe that Jonathan had ever loved him and he wasn’t sure he had ever truly loved Jonathan either, but sometimes he missed the peaceful moments. The softer moments, like when Jonathan had thanked him. They had both dealt out so much violence in life and fallen prey to it too often by those who were supposed to care for them. He wasn’t going to pretend that Jonathan wasn’t fucked up. He was. Edward was fucked up too. They could both be just as cruel and manipulative to the other when they wanted to be, but it was nice to have someone who cared about you, after so many years of hurt. And Edward did care about Jonathan, no matter how often he regretted or how often Jonathan abused it. He liked to believe Jonathan had cared about him too, even if he didn’t love him. Even if he was incapable of it.

Edward cleared the kit away, threw the needle in the garbage and put the whiskey back in its draw. He turned his attention back to Jonathan who was staggering out of the kitchen. His legs gave way but he managed to catch himself on the door frame before he fell. Edward cried out, “Careful! Careful! I just spent hours on those stitches so you better not rip them open already!”

“Edward,” Jonathan drawled out his name, same suggestive yet somehow sinister smile playing on his face, “Always so imperious.”

He had to practically carry Jonathan to the couch, which the older man sunk down into with a slight yelp, one that he tried to stifle. “Ever the master of fear.” Edward said under his breath. He glanced, briefly, at the now cold cocoa and the puzzle book beside it. Oh, how simpler his night might have been.

“Get some rest.” Edward said and made to leave but Jonathan caught his wrist and pulled him down onto the couch beside him.

“ _Jonathan!_ ” Edward snapped as he fell onto the couch. “What the hell are you-?”

Jonathan kissed him, silencing whatever he was about to say. Jonathan was always so impatient and insistent when he kissed, one hand on Edward’s throat and the other wrapping around the back of his head, pulling him close. At first Edward was angry, Jonathan had  _no right,_ but he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed Jonathan touching him, being close to him.

When Jonathan finally released him, Edward was flustered and breathing hard. Jonathan only slouched back on the couch, laughing the same way he had when Edward punched him many months ago, “You still taste good.”

Edward raised a brow, “Ever the charmer, aye, Jonathan?” He said. “You’re still a terrible kisser.”

“Are you sure about that, Edward?” His voice was low and deliberately intimidating. He reached a hand forward, pressed it to Edward’s chest lightly, over his heart which thumped from the adrenaline rush. “Your body says otherwise, as it always seems to.”

He withdrew his hand. Jonathan’s eyes were half-lidded in the dim light of the living room, but Edward knew better. “That’s enough. We can’t have you ripping your stitches.”

“No, we can’t have that.” Jonathan parroted but Edward got the feeling that was the last thing on his mind.

“We can’t go back to it, Jon,” Edward said, unprompted. Jonathan said nothing, just watched him. “We can’t.”

It was a while before Jonathan spoke. “I know, Edward. I know.”

Edward rose, unsteady and unsure of himself, for the first time in what might have been years. Jonathan’s eyes tracked him across the room and there was something almost melancholic on his face. Almost.

Edward’s hands hovered over the light switch. He turned back to Jonathan’s thin frame on the couch, “Goodnight Jonathan.”

“Goodnight Edward.”


End file.
